


More complicated than shower sex

by Winnie_Chester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Fantasy, Shower Sex, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnie_Chester/pseuds/Winnie_Chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam had pictured showering with his brother a lot. This was not how he pictured it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More complicated than shower sex

This was not how Sam pictured showering with his brother. In Sam’s fantasy, there was no blood washing down the drain.

When Sam pictured it, neither of them were wounded. They were tired—in this fantasy they were always tired, leaning into each other more than was necessary—and the water was hotter, the interplay of hot water and freezing tiles and warm skin would make Sam delirious. 

First Dean would wash Sam’s hair, his fingers running through it, massaging the shampoo in, catching the tangles and pulling on it lightly. Sam loved having his hair played with, washed, it was one of the reasons he kept it so long. Then Dean would run his hands down Sam’s neck and work out the knots and tension that were always there. He’d pour some soap into his palms and rub it down Sam’s back, his legs, and back up, his thighs, his chest, intentionally avoiding everything Sam really wanted him to touch, giving him that playful, sexy smirk. He’d push Sam back under the water and stare appraisingly as bubbles sluiced off. Everything would smell like old spice and by then steam would be filling the room, giving the whole thing an even dreamier quality. 

Dean wouldn’t let Sam touch him, not yet. He’d push him back into the corner of the shower, and he’d perform the same ritual on himself, bubbles running down his arms and legs and catching in his pubic hair and Sam would want more than anything to taste them. He’d turn and Sam would watch the way the water slid down the muscles of his brother’s back, his perfect ass, and Sam wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

Dean was gorgeous soaking wet, and even tired Sam would have been achingly hard from the moment they got in the shower. Unable to take Dean’s teasing a moment longer, he’d pull his brother around and lick the droplets of water off his lips, suck them from his earlobes, and push into him so all he could feel was hot skin and hot water. Dean would be moaning, hand wrapped around Sam’s neck and then he’d put a hand on Sam’s chest and slam him back into the tiles hard—there was always an undercurrent of violence in Sam’s fantasies—and he’d kiss and suck his way from Sam’s neck down to his-- _oh god_. Water would be pouring over Dean’s shoulders and Sam would wonder vaguely how he wasn’t drowning until Sam wouldn’t be able to wonder anything at all, he’d be incoherent and babbling, and Dean would have to put a hand on his leg to make sure he didn’t fall. 

His head would be spinning in the steam and his whole body would be pulsing with his orgasm and he’d have to steady himself on the shower walls and Dean would laugh at him and it would revive Sam just enough to push his brother into the wall. To pin Dean’s hands above his head and tease him even more mercilessly then he’d teased Sam in the beginning. Circling nipples, but never running his tongue over them, fingers gliding over Dean’s thighs, brushing but never touching his dick, his balls. 

Sam knew exactly how to torture his brother—Dean would be swearing at him, half fighting against Sam’s restraints. Sam would make him beg—they both would fucking love that part—and would wait until he started calling him “baby” and “honey,” would wait until it was clear he’d come the moment Sam did anything. And then Sam would release his hands, and Dean would haul him bodily out of the shower, push Sam against the sink, grab the lube from his dopp kit, finger him open and push inside of him. 

Dean’s fingers would leave bruises on Sam’s hips and Sam would thrill at them for days. 

The only part Sam had gotten right was the Dean making sure he didn’t fall down part. 

Sam was covered in blood. Things were a little fuzzy, but he knew something—a vampire maybe?—had jumped him and he’d managed to kill it, but not before knocking his head pretty hard on the sidewalk and catching some claws or teeth in the process. He’d, somehow, managed to beheaded the creature when it was on top of him, and had ended up just drenched in blood. It was all a little indistinct, except for Dean’s face when he’d come running, and his relief when he realized most of the blood wasn’t Sam’s. Sam wasn’t going to forget that. 

Some of the blood was his, but he was so out of it and dizzy and his adrenaline levels were so high that he couldn’t exactly tell Dean where he thought he might be bleeding, or how bad. So they’d gotten back to the hotel room and Dean had stripped to his boxers and then stripped Sam too and Sam tried to fight him, but Dean pushed them both into the shower so he could wash the blood away and take a better look. It made perfect sense as first aid, but it had been the worst thing that happened to Sam all month. 

It was all wrong. The water was tinged pink as it swirled down the drain and it smelled like copper instead of soap. But this was still too close to what he wanted, what he’d pictured, they were wet and nearly naked and Dean was touching him and— _get it together, Sam._

Sam knew he had to get a grip on himself, _right the fuck now_ , had to remind himself that this was his brother and yes they were in the shower but it wasn’t like that, would never be like that. Dean loved him, which is why he had them both in the shower, why he was taking such care of him, why he’d always taken care of him, but he didn’t love Sam the way Sam loved Dean. Sam had to remember, had to remember right now, that if he let himself get swept up at all, if he let himself forget that for even one minute, even when he was bleeding and even when he had a head injury, it would ruin everything and Dean would love him not at all. _Think about the blood and the pain and dear God nothing else._  
Why was everything in Sam's life so fucking complicated? How was he supposed to keep himself under control in circumstances like these?

Sam had to fucking get it together or there was going to be no reason for any first aid because surely this secret getting out would kill them both in short order. 

Sam was going to slip. 

Sam had never seriously doubted his ability to keep his secret before, but tonight, tonight he realized it was inevitable. 

Sam couldn’t be in control all the time. Something was going to happen—if it wasn’t this vampire and this shower it would be something else somewhere else— and Sam was going to slip. 

  

Sam felt nauseous and it had nothing at all to do with the concussion. 

Dean turned off the water and announced Sam would only need a couple of stitches and Sam mumbled nonsense that Dean took as consent. Dean pulled him out of the shower, dried them both off, and sat Sam on the lid of the toilet while he went to fetch the kit and dry clothes. 

Sam put his head in his hands, the room swimming at the altitude adjustment, and swallowed, breathing deliberately, trying not to come completely undone. 

If Sam had been a few seconds slower he’d have been the one who died and maybe—maybe Dean could have survived that. But this? This would destroy him. 

Sam is going to slip. Not tonight, but it is only a matter of time.


End file.
